


Last Call

by theonewhowas, TopHat



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Other, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewhowas/pseuds/theonewhowas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHat/pseuds/TopHat
Summary: A collaboration between theonewhowas and I, featuring a SI-come-Original Character of theirs and an OC of mine. Romance like a tire fire, bad decisions all around, and what I'd hope would be some catharsis at the end of it.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. "Hey there." (J)

Jackie decided that Chris was weird.  
  
The Protectorate ENE was weird as whole of course, but Chris’s personal brand of nuttiness was a more irritating impediment to hookups than, say, Hannah’s iron-clad heterosexuality or Colin’s devotion to his job. Those Jackie just kind of had to roll with and move past. Ethan’s faithfulness to his wife made sense, even if Sharon’s hang ups about it ‘putting her marriage in danger’ felt more like cowardice than caution. Roger frankly looked like a terrible lay, Robin was too flighty even for her, and the process of elimination left Chris as their only potential bedmate.  
  
They were skittish. Skittish and unaware. Sultry glances didn’t get any reaction at all, light grinding and thigh contact in the PRT vans was little more than a distraction, and the one time she’d given Chris’s ass a squeeze the resulting glare was almost as confused as it was angry. Jackie hadn’t gone for a repeat, but there were times she’d wanted another handful. It was good ass, and Chris didn’t seem uninterested in the concept.  
  
They thought they were being subtle, staying out of the showers until other people had finished up. Sure, maybe it was nervousness, but combined with the eyes that wandered to Jackie’s chest when she breathed in deeply, the little nervous shivers that ran up the smaller cape’s neck when Jackie leaned into them, and how Chris’s ears went red whenever Jackie slowly stretched after a long patrol...  
  
Yeah, Chris was into her.  
  
They weren’t responding to the come-ons though, which meant that either Chris was criminally unaware of how people showed romantic and sexual interest in one another or they were fucking with her. Fortunately, both problems had the same solution.  
  
“Hey, Hotswap,” Jackie said, hanging up the microwelder and kicking away from the desk, spinning around lazily in the office chair she’d appropriated from the conference room down the hall for Tinkering purposes. Armsmaster’s stools were hella uncomfortable, and this way she could roll up beside Chris without making a racket. “Can I get you for a minute?”  
  
Chris looked up from their own project, an incoherent pile of tech that was very clearly Baby’s First Tinkering. Sky blue eyes met Jackie’s intent gaze, framed on an almost elfin face, one side draped with a shoulder-length curtain of light blue-green hair, the other half once shaved clean and just starting to grow back. Tattoos, intricate and colorful, peeked out from the edges of their sleeves. They were petite, small even for Jackie’s type, with narrow shoulders and just enough feminine curves to draw the eye.  
  
“Sure, what’s—”  
  
Chris’s lips were soft, virgin territory practically, and Jackie felt them freeze on contact. They didn’t push her away though, and the corners of Jackie’s mouth twisted up when a noise not unlike a moan escaped Chris.  
  
Definitely into her.  
  
Jackie took their cheek in hand, thumb gently tracing a cheekbone. Another small sound slipped out of Chris’s throat, their mouth parting, granting access. Jackie slipped in her tongue, moved a little closer, curled one leg around Chris’s, calf against calf, hand drifting down—  
  
Two hands braced against Jackie’s shoulders and shoved, sending her flying back. The wheels hit a cord and tipped the chair over, sending Jackie flailing to the floor. A blur of speed kept her from cracking her head against the tile, and after licking the lingering taste of Chris from her lips she looked to the source of the push, one eyebrow raised.  
  
At which point Jackie’s gaze focused on the rather massive shotgun Chris was pointing at her.  
  
“What. The fuck?” Chris asked evenly, shoulders shaking, chest heaving from their heavy breaths, hands unnervingly steady. “I mean, thanks, that was nice and all, but fucking ask maybe?”  
  
“Gotcha. Ask permission,” Jackie said, nodding once as she took in the gun, shifting her focus to the wide, sky-blue orbs behind the iron sights. A little fragile, a lot dilated, and laced with no small amount of excitement. Jackie let the silence settle a little, waited for the flush to fall away from Chris’s cheeks, and for the finger on the trigger to move outside the guard.  
  
All was calm.  
  
Then Jackie smiled.  
  
“Can I kiss you until my lips bruise purple?” she asked, slowly propping herself up on her elbows, crossing her legs and flexing her toes in sequence. “Pretty please? With a cherry on top? Maybe a little more if I beg?” The gun trembled, red rising to Chris’s face, and Jackie prepared to blur out of the way of a load of buckshot. It wouldn’t be the worst rejection she’d had, and if Chris tried to press the point Jackie had a revolver loaded with confoam rounds waiting on her workstation—  
  
Then the shotgun vanished in a black-green swirl of energy, leaving just a tiny slip of a person with their arms wrapped protectively around themselves. Jackie’s smile fell away as Chris’s eyes drifted up, mind going elsewhere.  
  
"Maybe later. I'm not... This isn't... I’ve got some shit to work through, alright?" Chris said quietly.  
  
“Gotcha,” Jackie said, climbing to her feet and straightening her shirt. After righting the office chair and pushing towards its home by her station, she walked over to Chris’s desk and dug around in her pocket. When she took her hand out, a silver key gleamed in her hand. “If you ever change your mind, my door is open.”  
  
Jackie slapped the key down and walked to the lab door, pulling on a domino mask as she waited for the doors to cycle open. She didn’t look back to see if Chris would take the key. It’d ruin the effect. That, and she’d pushed far enough for today. No sense in spooking the other cape more than strictly necessary.  
  
Now was time to relax, back off, and focus on making sure the grass on the other side looked as green as possible.


	2. "Maybe Later." (C)

Chris kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now that they were painfully aware that yes, Jackie _had_ been hitting on them, she wasn’t just a very touchy-feely person, they were braced for another blatant flirtation, suggestive comment, or a ‘accidental’ brush in the hall. They waited for _something_ that they could point to and yell at or complain about or… or maybe respond to, an excuse to push Jackie away, to definitely say ‘you are a problem’ and throw her into sexual harassment seminars until the sun went out and never, ever think about just how form-fitting that zig-zag skin-tight suit was again. It would’ve been bittersweet, confusing, and maybe not what they wanted, but it would’ve been closure.  
  
Closure that didn’t happen.  
  
Jackie was perfectly polite, careful not to touch them even in passing. She took the long way around conference tables, always used the same greeting (“Good morning, Chris.” / “Good afternoon, Chris.” / “Ready to patrol, Chris?”), and to anyone else watching made every effort to be professional and distant. She’d gone from ‘sex kitten’ to ‘Sharon from accounting’ between one day and the next, and if it weren’t for the fact that nobody else seemed to bat an eye Chris would have been tempted to call M/S protocols on her.  
  
That didn’t mean Jackie wasn’t making it _really goddamn difficult to ignore her,_ though.  
  
She didn’t dress differently. She didn’t change her makeup, as far as Chris could tell. She didn’t spill drinks down her front, eat fruit suggestively, or start flirting with anyone else. She was still toned as a dancer, still armed with a wicked smile that could stop hearts at twenty paces. Still half a foot taller than them—although that didn’t mean as much as it used to—with an angular face, short-cropped hair and dark coffee skin that looked soft as silk—  
  
Chris shook their head clear, trying to focus on their—what the hell had they been trying to build again? Right. Microcapacitors. Not sure what they were for precisely, but apparently they were the backbone of everything Tinker-y. At least they were for Armsmaster.  
  
Jackie didn’t do anything overt. Instead it was all little things, miniscule gestures that _oozed_ sensuality. It was in way she stretched, always in exactly the right position to be this side of posing (why did they keep staring?). It was in the way her voice became just a tiny bit huskier when speaking with Chris, an undertone that was only there if you looked for it (why were they looking for it?). It was in the intensity of her eye contact, silent and nonjudgemental, a look that made it _perfectly clear_ she still wanted to take Chris somewhere dark and quiet and…  
  
Chris smoked. A lot. They spent a little more time in the shower, a little more time exploring the body they were stuck with. They tried to deal with things manually so they could think about _literally anything else_ , but figuring out what worked only brought more thoughts to mind, ideas about how someone else might feel. If anything, acknowledging the growing heat only made things _worse_. And it wasn’t like they could just… spring it on someone else, figuratively speaking. ‘Hey Colin, could you lend me a hand? For what? Oh, nothing big, just ~~please fuck me~~ something to turn off a few parts of my brain, please.’  
  
That goddamn key was taunting them, even buried in the back of a dresser drawer.  
  
Focusing on Tinkering didn’t help, not when they shared a lab. Not because Jackie interrupted them—no Tinker was that rude, or no Tinker lived long if they were—but because people Tinkered in what was comfortable and what was comfortable tended to be revealing. Every flash of coffee-black leg, every adjustment of the loose shirt splattered with oil and scorch marks, every glimpse of pink bra straps hammered home just how little the very, _very_ pretty person _right next to them_ was wearing. Yeah, Colin walked around in basketball shorts and nothing else, but he wasn’t _lewd_ about it (even if it was becoming increasingly distracting). Jackie though, she was all sultry looks and light touches, a walking loudspeaker that screamed ‘you are more than your faulty hardware’, a dream that maybe, just maybe, they could someday not just get used to this body but actually appreciate, even _enjoy_ it—  
  
"Could you stop? Please?” Chris asked.  
  
Jackie looked up from her partially-dissected munitions, braless tank top challenging Chris’s willpower while her eyes sparkled full of innocence. “Stop what?”  
  
Chris tried to stay calm, tried not to shout, tried not to stare. “Look it's very flattering and if I still had my own body I'd be all over that but honestly you’re just making it very hard—very _difficult_ to stay on the Rig and I know you’re doing it on purpose."  
  
Jackie paused, biting her lip, appraising. Chris clenched their fists, desperately trying to avoid breaking eye contact.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Chris watched her a heartbeat longer, then sighed and turned back to their work. " _Thank_ you."  
  
For a while they simply Tinkered, with only the sound of spark and fire breaking the silence. Chris worked their way through cigarette after cigarette, the smoke disappearing into the repurposed anti-grav panel they wore around their neck, the only way Colin permitted them to indulge the nervous habit while in the lab.  
  
"You know, if you want to talk, we can get coffee. No strings," Jackie said, eyes flickering up.  
  
Chris snorted, half from relief, half from amusement. "Can you wear a bag over your head? Because fucking hell you're pretty."  
  
Jackie smirked. "I'll get my ten-gallon hat."  
  
Chris chuckled at the mental image, then paused when Jackie’s expression didn’t change. “Wait, you’re serious? I used to _live_ in Texas and I’d never met anyone who actually owned a literal ten-gallon hat.”  
  
“It takes a certain level of class to wear that much fabric and not look like an idiot,” Jackie said, spreading her arms helplessly. “Also, Texas. I don’t think I’ve spent any time there. What’s it like?”  
  
The conversation continued easily after that, winding like a river but always flowing. Something slowly un-knotted inside Chris, a weight shifted, and clouds cleared as one more little crisis was averted.  
  
Maybe Jackie wasn’t that bad, once you got to know her.


	3. "Coffee?" (C)

“I know this is a platonic date,” Jackie started, staring intensely at Chris over the rim of her mug and below the brim of her slouch hat, “but I’d like to ask a not-platonic question. Is that okay?”  
  
Chris inhaled, chest swelling with the motion, then falling as they let the breath out. “I reserve the right not to answer.”  
  
Jackie nodded. “When you said ‘your own body’, what did you mean?”  
  
"It's a weird power thing. Don't worry about it,” they replied, the words quick, practiced, automatic. Chris sipped at their cocoa, trying to find comfort in the sugar and chocolate and failing. Needed cinnamon. Cayenne.  
  
For a few minutes the two of them sat there, quiet, lost in thought and the chatter of the patrons around them.  
  
“I’m not worried,” Jackie said quietly, looking into her drink. “I’d get told by someone else if there was anything dangerous, for you or me.” She glanced up, just long enough to make eye contact, then turned away. “I’d still like to know. Even if it’s just a weird power thing.”  
  
Chris took a long gulp of their cocoa, then put down the empty paper cup and folded their hands in their lap, focusing on the interlaced fingers.  
  
"I'm trans. Ish. Kinda. I mean I'm a little genderfluid but that's a longer conversation. Point is I am—I _used_ to be a man. A foot of height and a hundred pounds gone, and now everything is different and I'm still... adjusting." The last word tasted like ash. Like a concession. When Chris looked back up, Jackie’s eyes were wide with shock.  
  
"I—okay.” She shook her head, swallowing. “That sucks. Plain and simple. I thought I had it bad, but goddamn."  
  
Chris blinked. "Wait. You...?"  
  
“Me? Oh, no,” Jackie clarified, waving one hand in front of her. “Nah, what you see is what you get. Lucked out like that. I meant more like my power problems aren't anywhere close to as bad as your particular brand of fuck-off.”  
  
Chris let the silence stretch out again, trying desperately not to look down Jackie’s shirt as she leaned forward, resting her weight on her elbows. "...Wanna talk about it? You can say no. I won't push."  
  
Her hands tightened, knuckles going light as they clutched the ceramic, and for a long second it seemed like Jackie was going to take the out.  
  
Then she looked up, something gleaming in the corner of her eyes. "Have you ever been so in love that you went stupid for a month?"  
  
"Most of high school, yes," Chris said, the joke slipping out instantly.  
  
Jackie barked a laugh. "I went so stupid for a guy that I dropped out of college and didn't care."  
  
It got worse from there. Or better, depending on how you looked at it. Jackie had a habit of speaking in a way that always came back to the beginning, where the whole point of her monologue would become apparent only at the end. It made listening to her an experience, an activity all on its own as you tried to figure out what, precisely, she was trying to get at.  
  
When she talked about Calvin and Richard though, there wasn’t ambiguity. She didn’t use metaphors, didn’t dance around the subject. Calvin was the current incarnation of human goodwill on the planet and Richard was a sociopath, the single most black and white contrast she’d ever indulged in. Jackie switched between describing her chain of commissions and nights out with a kind, loving boy, always in the same tense monotone, always without any rhyme or reason. It was scattered, disjointed, more collage than story, and slowly a picture of a life on the edge came into view.  
  
She explained that at first it was just a way to split the rent. That Jackie’d deluded herself into thinking that love didn’t exist, and that if it did it wasn’t what she and Calvin had. The sex was fun, yeah, but that the message was what mattered, and that emotions needed to go into paint and not people. She’d convinced herself that the laughter on the beach was part of a recharging process, that when Calvin kissed her on the cheek before leaving to see his other lovers she didn’t feel poisonous and hateful, that the angry black slashes on canvas were supposed to inspire something in the viewer and not in her.  
  
Jackie chugged her coffee angrily.  
  
“I was a fucking idiot,” she said bitterly.  
  
Then Jackie quietly outlined a meeting gone wrong, where a dream died, a good man was forced to pick a side, and a shittier one was surprised at the outcome.  
  
For a long time no one said anything.  
  
"So yeah. That's me. Sorry for dominating the conversation." Three paper cups stood on the table, lined up next to a thrice-emptied mug. For all the caffeine she’d consumed, none of the energy had made its way into Jackie. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes remained downcast, and her hands hung limply at the end of her arms. “Just needed to get that off my chest.”  
  
Chris shook their head. "Shit, don't apologize. Thank you for trusting me with it. It must have been difficult to share." They paused, mulling over their thoughts. “For what it’s worth, Calvin seems like a really nice guy”  
  
Jackie smiled, just a little. “The best.”  
  
Chris let the moment stretch out a bit longer, at a bit of a loss. They raised their own cup to their lips, found it empty, and took a deep breath instead, placing the container off to the side. “Would you like a hug?”  
  
Jackie took a few long seconds to answer.  
  
“Please,” she whispered.  
  
It was a bit awkward at first, the two of them leaning over in their chairs and table, all strange weight and uncoordinated limbs. Then Chris scooted over to sit next to Jackie and the two let themselves sink into each other, chins resting on shoulders, arms wrapped tight.  
  
It was a nice hug. Warm.  
  
“Thanks,” Jackie murmured, barely audible. Her breath tickled, warm in Chris’s ear.  
  
“S’fine,” Chris replied, just as softly.


	4. "You up?" (C)

Chris stared at the door, long enough they were worried someone would walk by and notice them. After a while, they started pacing, bare feet barely touching the gray safety carpet, whisper quiet.  
  
 _This is stupid, I should go_.  
  
They didn’t. Instead their thoughts and footsteps went around in circles. Meals spent laughing together blurred into the equally comfortable silences in the workshop melted into Jackie dragging them out of said workshop to get some fresh air and do stupid touristy shit. Freeze-frames of Jackie shouting down men twice her size who had refused to take Chris’s refusals at face value clashed with memories of the quiet, introspective look she got in quieter moments, normally concealed by crass charisma and a wicked smile.  
  
They almost made it to the elevator before turning again, too full of nervous energy and pent-up frustration to even consider heading back to their cramped, deathly quiet quarters. The shooting range was closed though, so maybe the gym. Or the helipad, chainsmoke their way through a pack of cigarettes while waiting for the sun to rise. Or another shower.  
  
Chris snarled silently to themself, _I’m so goddamn tired of taking long showers_. Instead they thought of Jackie, the way her eyes still sometimes lingered when her self control slipped. That little smile she gave Chris when they caught her looking, the kind that said ‘sorry not sorry’. The key in Chris’s pocket, an anchor, impossibly heavy. The heat in the pit of their stomach, both familiar and strange, recognizable but undeniably different, still insistent and demanding and a furnace that flared up every time Chris thought of the kiss—  
  
 _Knock knock knock_.  
  
Chris froze, hand above the wooden door where they’d moved it without thinking _oh fuck oh god this is a mistake what am I doing_. Their heart pounded in their ears, the everweapon danced around their body searching for holsters that weren’t there, everarmor shifting from loose sweater to t-shirt to hoodie to pajamas oh well she didn’t answer must be asleep Chris should probably just go—  
  
The door opened.  
  
For a moment they both just stood there, staring. Chris was dressed in their most familiar, comfortable sweater and sweatpants while Jackie had on an oversized shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder, outlining curves, crests, and valleys while leaving her legs deliciously bare—  
  
Chris’s eyes dropped before they darted back up to meet hers, throat suddenly dry as the Sahara.  
  
 _Goddamn_.  
  
Jackie’s mouth hung open in surprise, one hand on the door and the other hanging limply, at a loss for words for the first time since Chris’d known her.  
  
“You did this,” Chris said accusingly, only half in jest, holding themselves tight to keep the shuddering at bay, flushed, frustrated, feverish. Jackie was beautiful. Jackie was mad. Jackie didn’t think Chris was broken. Jackie had given Chris her kiss and her charm and her smile and her _stupid goddamn key_.  
  
“You fix it,” they added, almost a whisper.  
  
Jackie said nothing, a small, warm smile dancing across her lips. No snarky comment, no gloating, no teasing. She just stepped backwards, beckoning with one hand.  
  
Afterwards, Chris actually slept, deeply, and without dreams.


	5. "Ugh. Work." (C)

That first night was the only time Jackie had woken up before Chris.  
  
“I mean, Noctis, you know? Every once in a while is fine and don’t get me wrong I love cuddling but otherwise I, uh, probably won’t stick around. After. If that’s alright.” Chris leaned against the wall of the workshop, juggling half a dozen microcapacitors over and around their knuckles and fingers, trying to use their newest powerup to distract themself from the awkwardness of the conversation. On the other hand, there was only so much you could do when telling your partner you’re planning to serially wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am them. “Don’t know if you expected me to stay the night, and I’m sorry if you did.”  
  
Jackie shrugged, slowly guiding a tiny blue light across a seam of metal. “It’s good. Cool sheets aren’t going to bother me too much. I’m a big girl.” After a moment, a filthy grin spread across her face. “On the other hand, a warm little body pillow might be a nice reward for literally fucking someone unconscious—”  
  
“Once!” Chris interrupted, flushed, nearly dropping the components orbiting their fingertips. “It was one time! See if you can pull that off again.”  
  
Jackie cackled in response, lifting the welder away from her latest piece. “Set the time, place, and weapons sugarplum. Then we’ll see where you end up when I’m actually _trying_.”  
  
Colin took that moment to return from patrol, helmet tucked under one arm. He paused at the entrance of the workshop, glancing between a lewdly grinning Jackie and a flushed Chris, the latter of whom was doing their level best to appear extremely interested in the tech floating between their hands.  
  
He cleared his throat and made eye contact with each of them in turn, lips set in a hard line. “No sex in the lab,” he declared simply. “Also, please fill out form R-5. Legal will have a witness on-hand.”  
  
Chris sputtered something incoherent, eyes immediately snapping to Jackie for her reaction, which was less than positive.  
  
“Ar _five_ ,” Jackie said, grin falling away. “This is, like, ar three at most. Why?”  
  
“Chris is potentially one of the most dangerous Trumps in North America and you have both a body count and clustermates,” he said, placing his helmet on his work bench and stepping into the disarming cabinet, where his armor began slowly slipping off of him. “I would require an R-4. So would Miss Militia. Tell me that you are less of a risk than either of us.” He turned to Chris. “I don’t think I have to expand upon the potential of your power.”  
  
Chris considered answering with a rebuttal, found none, and decided to take it as a compliment. Then they shook their head and focused on more important questions. “Ah, new guy here. What, exactly, is that form for?”  
  
“Part of the PRT’s vampiric attempt to suck every bit of happiness out of life,” Jackie snapped, leaning back in her chair and balling her fists in her eyes. “ _Usually_ it’s just a piece of paper and a few questions. R-5 means you need to get down into the nitty gritty.” Chris blanched at the explanation, and then paled further at the thought of discussing their relationship with _Jackie_ , much less Human Resources.  
  
“The PRT tries to keep tabs on the romantic relationships of Protectorate members,” Colin said, stepping out clad in compression shorts and little else, sitting on a spinny stool and resting his hands on his knees. “The amount of inquiry is proportional to the anticipated depth of the bond, and the power of the parahuman or parahumans in question. Most parahumans fill out R-1 on their first day, R-2 once they’ve settled in, and R-3 is where either marriage or people capable of leveling buildings start getting involved.” He nodded at Jackie. “She has more practical experience with this than anyone else on-base.”  
  
“Don’t slut shame me just because you’re jealous,” she said, standing up and cracking her neck, smirking. Chris buried their head in their hands because _oh my god Jackie you did not just say that._  
  
Colin winced. “I didn’t mean it like that, but sorry anyway.”  
  
Chris raised a hand, interrupting, conciliatory. “I mean, to be fair, I can literally shit nukes.”  
  
“And I’m a basket case, even by cape standards,” Jackie added, looking across the room. “If this is a deal-breaker...”  
  
“If I didn’t know you were crazy by now, I deserve what’s coming to me,” Chris said, almost straight faced.


	6. "..." (C)

“Hrrmph?”  
  
Chris paused, halfway to the door in the dark, then turned around. Jackie’s arm was waving around behind her, gently _thwapping_ against the bed, head still half-hidden by the pillow. They smiled indulgently and floated back, catching the still-flailing hand in their own. Jackie pulled them close as soon as she had a grip, and Chris resigned themself to a few more hours of cuddling (the horror). Instead Jackie twisted her head and planted a slow, sleepy kiss on their lips. Then, smiling, she let them go and settled back into whatever dream she was having before Chris so rudely interrupted her by leaving.  
  
They watched her for a moment, a goofy grin on their face, letting themself enjoy the warmth from the unexpectedly sweet gesture before clamping down on those feelings. A goodbye kiss, while touching, didn't mean Jackie was any less of a relationship dumpster fire.  
  
They were still smiling when they quietly closed the door behind them, though. That smile faded when they saw Dauntless, visibly drunk, leaning against a wall at the far end of the hallway, a bottle of whiskey clutched loosely in one dangling hand. He’d clearly been at it since he got off shift, the bottle half-finished and his costume half-off.  
  
“Roger,” Chris greeted, worried. He wasn’t _normally_ a big drinker, especially on his own.  
  
“Chris,” Roger slurred, eyes not quite focused, waving the bottle slightly either in greeting or an aborted attempt at taking another drink. “How’s things? Going good?”  
  
“It goes,” Chris replied reflexively, growing increasingly concerned at the man’s sorry state. “You’re going pretty strong there, Rog. You drinking water? Getting sleep?”  
  
Roger shook his head, rolling the bottle between his hands. “It’s the anniversary. Gotta get _drunk_. What I always do. Water makes that harder. Save money.” He staggered forward, holding out the bottle. “You want some?”  
  
“Jesus, Rog. I didn’t know.” Chris intercepted the bottle and Roger before either could hit the ground. They pried the bottle out of the man’s hands with some difficulty and took a swig, washing the taste of Jackie’s morning breath out of their mouth. Cute as a fox, breath like a dachshund. “You talk to the counselor about it?”  
  
“Nah,” Roger said, trying to stand back up under his own power, shaking his head and swaying in place. “Tried talkin’ things out. Tried sittin’ down and hashing it out real good. Just made people madder.”  
  
Chris hid the bottle behind their back, patting Roger sympathetically on the shoulder with their other hand. “That’s rough, Rog. I’m sorry.” They weighed their schedule over the merits of offering emotional labor to a sort-of-friend-mostly-coworker, then tipped the scales because it was the guy’s _anniversary_. “You want to talk it out with me?”  
  
Roger shook he head, putting one arm on the wall. “Nah. Mopin’s not doin’ anythin’.” He paused. “You, uh, you okay?”  
  
“Me? I’m… yeah, I’m doing better. Had some adjusting to do, but it’s…” They shrugged. “Thinking about it less. Other things on my mind.”  
  
“Like Desperado?” Roger asked, leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling and lifting his empty hand to his mouth, then staring at it blankly when it came up with nothing but air.  
  
“Like my power armor,” Chris deflected. “It’s almost finished. Can’t wait to trade in the skin-tight costume for something with actual horsepower, you know?” They tried gently guiding the man towards the nearest break room. Unfortunately Roger was twice their size and Chris wasn’t about to judo throw him in his current state, so they settled on ineffectually nudging his back with their free hand.  
  
“Must be nice,” Roger muttered, eventually going with the motion and staggering down the hall. “Gettin’ powerful so fast. Knowin’ what’s comin’. Just get an idea and go make it happen. Must be nice being able to go home to a hug.”  
  
Chris’s stomach flipped, mouth going dry. “It’s… not like that, really. Just a… casual thing. And you’re plenty powerful yourself, Rog. I’m borrowing your power for a reason, you know?”  
  
Roger hiccuped, pushing into the break room. “Copyin’. Don’t think you gotta let one go to pick up another. Know a lot about Trumps, right?” He tapped his head twice and half-sat, half-fell into a low sofa. “Ain’t bitter. Not about that. Kinda nice, not bein’ everyone’s hope anymore.”  
  
Chris hid the bottle in a cabinet while grabbing a glass and running it under the tap, filling it about halfway. “I mean, ‘Hotswap’, right? Swappin’ out powers. That’s my thing. And hey, I’m just riding your coattails. It’s still your power, I’m the cheap imitation.” They tried to smile as they brought the glass over, wrapped Roger’s hand around it, and watched to make sure it made it to his mouth. With any luck he could just sleep this off. Things always looked less bleak in the morning.  
  
After swallowing down half of the liquid, Roger coughed, pounding his chest twice. “Nah. Don’t gotta lie. I pay attention. Your tech’s good, better than Colin’s. He’s not mad though, you know? Sees you working, sees you doing what he does, that counts to him. Not like me, where I just tap the stuff and wait. That’s not the same.” He swallowed down another few inches of water, and put down the glass, gazing sightlessly.  
  
“Nobody chooses their powers,” Chris lied. “I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for yours.”  
  
“Jackie,” he said, gaze shifting up to meet Chris’s eyes. “You know she’s trouble, right? Deep shit.”  
  
“Yeap,” Chris answered honestly, looking for a blanket, finding one on another sofa. After picking that up, tossing it at Roger, they searched for a small trash can, digging under cabinets.  
  
“Why’re you sleepin’ with her then?” he asked, pulling the fabric around his shoulders. “Bad luck.”  
  
Chris paused as they grabbed a plastic bucket, actually considering the question. “She makes me feel…”  
  
Pretty? Wanted? Normal? Whole?  
  
They put the bucket by the foot of the couch and gently shoved Roger on his side in lieu of finishing answering.  
  
“Don’t fuck it up,” Roger muttered, lifting his legs onto the couch, boots and all. “Don’t do it if you don’t think it’ll work out, don’t leave if you do go for it, don’t fall in love twice.”  
  
“Thanks, Roger.” Chris watched him for a moment, made sure he kept breathing, then quietly floated up and turned off the lights.  
  
Don’t fall in love. Easy.


	7. "Dinner?" (J)

Jackie pushed herself away from the workbench with a grunt. “Okay, I’m going to murder someone for sustenance if I don’t feed soon. Do you think the cafeteria garbage is palatable today?”  
  
Chris set down their flangeratrix and ran a hand through their hair, a thoughtful look on their face. “Not feeling slop tonight. It's Taco Tuesday and fuck if anyone North of the Mason-Dixie line knows that ketchup is not a salsa.”  
  
Jackie rose, grabbing her coat. “Eating out, then.” A saucy grin slipped over her face as she pulled up the zipper, stopping just before it would conceal any part of her jersey’s plunging neckline. “Then eating out? Have our own Taco Tuesday?”  
  
Chris blushed slightly, but the expression was long-suffering, as was the involuntary groan. “Seriously? Why you gotta lewd Mexican food like that? I can't take you _anywhere_.”  
  
“So long as there aren’t peppers on your tongue when you’re going down on me,” Jackie said, swaying her way over to Chris and draping her arms over their shoulders from behind. Puns were low-hanging fruit, but if the mark kept reacting to it so wonderfully why not keep making them? “If not Mexican, what’s to your taste tonight?”  
  
Chris hesitated, biting their lip. “I could try to cook?”  
  
“You’re getting awfully domestic, you know.” Chris froze, and Jackie smirked. “Should I be worried about the Protectorate’s rising star deciding to abandon their promising career in favor of petit fours?”  
  
Chris relaxed again, returning her smile. “Is that a yes to staying in, then?”  
  
Jackie paused. Her experience with Chris’s home cooking was not quite date food. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but breakfast for dinner doesn’t sound great.”  
  
Chris gently bapped their head against Jackie’s in reproach. “Tacos are an anytime food, but I can try other things. What've you got?”  
  
“Some random veggies, tortillas, instant ramen, eggs, pancake batter, and milk,” Jackie rattled off. When Chris turned to give her a flat, disappointed look, Jackie shrugged. “Brockton Bay take-out and dine-in is cheap, the Protectorate pays well, and cooking is a hassle. Sue me.” The culinary arts had never been a high priority, and they’d only dropped as she got a steady job and started moving more.  
  
Chris stuck their tongue out at her for the sass, then adopted a contemplative expression. Shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”  
  
Once they’d signed out of the lab and changed into non-Tinkering clothes, the two of them went back to Jackie’s apartment on the Rig and started pulling out ingredients. The resulting pile of foodstuffs wasn’t terribly impressive—Chris muttered something about bachelor diets, which Jackie didn’t bother denying—yet still left the pantry bare. It seemed too eclectic a collection to become anything reasonable, but after a few seconds of intent staring Chris nodded confidently. “Yeah, this’ll work. You go relax. Watch TV or something.”  
  
“Really?” Jackie asked, giving the pile of disconnected ingredients a second look. Nope, still a mess. “We can still order a pizza. You don’t need to—”  
  
Chris cut her off, defiant, stubborn. “Naw, it's a matter of principle now. If you want to make yourself useful, boil some water. You can do that much, right?”  
  
“Ye of little faith,” Jackie said, rolling her eyes and pulling out a pot, then sticking it under the faucet.  
  
Cooking with Chris was odd. Gone was the fear, the bubble of space they did their best to keep unpopped that separated them from the rest of the world. Gone was the hesitancy, the second-guessing of anything and everything that involved their physical presence in the world. Instead they floated freely between the cutting boards and the stove, missing Jackie by inches and completely okay with it. Chris showed her how to crush garlic, both hand on hers with nary a blush in sight, slapping Jackie’s wandering mitts away fearlessly when they threatened to interrupt any esoteric activity. Chris started telling Jackie what to do, and the shock of taking orders nearly cost her a finger. Jackie had seen Chris angry. Spite, both gleeful and malicious, wasn’t uncommon. Eager to please, frequently enough.  
  
Confidence though...  
  
“Annnnnd done,” Chris said. Where there was once chaos and ramen packets, there was now a hearty noodle soup, savory and rich, packed with steamed vegetables, eggs just the right balance between firm and runny, and spicy enough that only her and someone with Aegis’s power could survive eating it. “Told you I could do it.”  
  
Jackie shook her head, picking up two bowls full of delicious-smelling ramen and heading to the two-person dining table on the other side of the island. “Sorcery, black magic, heresy, and a pile of witchcraft.”  
  
“Says the Tinker,” Chris said, completely without irony, grabbing utensils and sitting down across from Jackie. Somehow they’d even managed to set the table at some point without her noticing. “We tell physics to sit in the corner on the daily. How is cooking any different?”  
  
“Tinkering is an art, not a science,” Jackie replied, gratefully accepting a pair of chopsticks. “I don’t know how any of my stuff works, just that it does. If I cooked like I Tinkered, I’d catch a case of food poisoning in twenty minutes flat.”  
  
“Good thing I’m here then,” Chris replied with a grin, then promptly began slurping at their meal.  
  
“Yeah,” Jackie agreed, looking at them over the rim of her bowl before sipping at the broth. “Good thing.”


	8. "What you got?" (J)

“Hrrrrrrngh,” Jackie growled, twisting her neck left, then slowly right, a chorus of pops and crackles sounding off. “Fucking. End of shift. Meetings.”  
  
“Quit whining, you big baby.” Chris’s fingers brushed the back of her neck, and Jackie shivered with pleasure as the stiffness to her limbs slowly fell away, and after a few moments she felt tired but not exhausted. Fuck Nazis, but Othala’s power was the best thing _ever_. Totally worth the overtime it took to track her pasty ass down.  
  
“Thanks bae,” Jackie murmured stepping back and to the side, nudging Chis’s hand with the back of hers. An inquiry, low-pressure, but PDA’s were still a little up in the air and Jackie didn’t want to push too hard. She’d had partners where boundaries were a game, and Chris was not one of them.  
  
“Mmhmm,” Chris said, hesitating for only a moment before moving in a little closer and taking Jackie's hand, bringing a small smile to her face. Chris studied Jackie for a moment, their own soft smile flashing briefly before they bit their lip and looked away.  
  
Then they spun around, floating up until their lips were right next to her ear. “Are you busy?” they asked, breath tickling. “There's something I want to show you.”  
  
Jackie hummed, intrigued. “Surprise me.”  
  
Chris practically dragged them down the hallway, and Jackie let herself be led along, questions percolating but remaining unasked. As they moved past doorways, taking turns seemingly at random, Chris’s grip tightened steadily, first pleasant, then not, then painful. Jackie squeezed back, biting her tongue as she took in observing Chris’s hunched shoulders, light, quick breaths, and furtive glances. Finally they found a room that seemed to agree with them and, with a quick glance around, slipped inside. Jackie followed, remaining silent as Chris shut the door behind her.  
  
The room was empty save for an oval table, half a dozen chairs and a sickly-looking potted plant in the corner. Chris let go of Jackie’s hand, floating a couple feet away, and then turned to face them, poorly-concealed terror in their eyes.  
  
Jackie edged a foot forward, one hand raising, then stopped. She took a deep breath, then settled into a neutral position, consciously loosening her stance. Back to skittish Chris. Careful. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.  
  
Chris whispered something under their breath, too quiet for Jackie to hear. Before she could ask again, Chris took a deep breath, snapped their fingers and—  
  
Their everarmor transformed in a green-black blur of energy.  
  
What took shape was red, lacy, flowery, with little coverage and a lot of suggestion. Sheer silk climbed up legs and cupped pale flesh in half-spheres that did nothing to support and everything to emphasize, faint floral patterns picked out in the fabric only barely visible against the pale skin beneath. It was chilly, impractical, worn by a person somewhere between terrified and aroused out of their mind and who had almost literally gift-wrapped themselves as a present for her.  
  
Once the first wave of _want_ subsided, all Jackie could think was _what the hell did I do right to deserve this?_  
  
Slowly, she took a step forward. When Chris didn’t move away Jackie kept walking, one hand pulling off her mask and the other reaching out, hesitant, eventually settling on a bare shoulder. “What brought this on?” she murmured.  
  
Chris’s breathing came ragged, shallow. “I—” They faltered, swallowed, tried again. “I wanted to prove I could,” they said, barely above a whisper.  
  
The first kiss was smooth, insistent without pushing. When Jackie drew back, she went for a hug, loose and comfortable. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Gettin’ there.” A shaky exhale, a smile that wasn’t entirely forced.  
  
“How far do you want to go?” Jackie asked, reaching one hand back and pulling at the zipper under her poncho, the sound deafening in the empty room. “What do you want to happen tonight?”  
  
Chris watched her hungrily, staring for long seconds, then averted their gaze, shuddering briefly. “Please, just...” Chris exhaled, voice quiet, insistent, pleading. “ _Please_.”  
  
Jackie moved lower, drawing out a whine. One hand moved to Chris’s legs while the other worked its way out of the suit and cast aside the poncho. “That’s not an answer,” she said, pulling at a garter and then letting go, savoring the _snap_ of elastic and the _eep_ that followed. “How about you tell me when to _stop_?”  
  
“I can— _ah_ —I can do that,” Chris replied, voice rising a few octaves as Jackie descended. “ _I can—oh god—please_...” Their words devolved into meaningless, breathless noises, their whole body flushed and trembling like a leaf as Jackie traveled lower and lower.


	9. "Oh God." (C)

Some indeterminate time after their legs had spasmed and their brain had flicked off like a lightbulb, Chris distantly recognized the sensation of fingers running through their hair. As the post-coital haze lifted, the feeling sharpened, one thumb tracing aimless patterns on the shaved half while the other combed through the blue-green locks, warm flesh pressed against their back, arms cocooning them.  
  
Oh god, Jackie. She had… she had seen them like that. Exposed. This body, not covered or carefully ignored but put on _display_. Presented for her. And she’d accepted the offer, gently at first, then with a passion that inspired them to answer in kind.  
  
It felt like freefall.  
  
Every muscle relaxed, even the ones they hadn’t realized had been tense. Their thoughts went blurry, distant and calm. A still and peaceful quiet in a mind too used to intrusive thoughts and constant betrayals by a body that, while it still wasn’t _theirs_ , at least felt, for a little while, _right_.  
  
“You there?” The words cut through the recursive thoughts and brought them back to the real world. A little bit. “Chris, talk to me.”  
  
Chris was warm and safe in Jackie’s arms, the feeling nestling like a soft heat somewhere in the bottom of their chest. Jackie, nonjudgmental and giving and caring, waiting for their reply, letting them try to put words together as they slowly picked the pieces of their mind off the floor.  
  
“Chris, what’s wrong?” Only then did Chris realize they were crying.  
  
Gently at first, moisture collected in the corners of their eyes, streaming down their face when they blinked, slowly building strength until they felt swept away in an ugly mess of tears, hiccuping and sobbing in Jackie’s arms as they buried themself in her chest, clutching her tightly, afraid she’d get scared and leave, she’d know Chris was just using them for validation, she’d see how _fucked up_ Chris was and rightfully want nothing to do with them and—  
  
Jackie made soft cooing noises, running her fingers through Chris’s hair, gently scratching their scalp, rubbing small circles into their back, holding them just as tightly. Gradually, slowly, their shuddering receded, breath calming. Her soft reassurance eased that sudden knot of mourning in their chest.  
  
Mourning. They’d never actually cried, on Bet. They turned their hurt and their terror and their desperation into anger, into work, into motivation to become stronger and never feel like this again. Crying felt too much like admitting defeat, like giving up on ever feeling right again. But here, now, exhausted and spent and with Jackie warm and willing and _there_ —  
  
They let themself cry. Their body ached for it, a different kind of release but just as desperate, just as needed.  
  
Words bubbled up in them, emerged as a quiet whisper. _“Am I pretty?”_  
  
Chris immediately wanted to take back, for Jackie not to have heard, for Jackie to pretend she hadn’t heard, for there not to have been such a pathetic _want_ in their voice—  
  
“Beautiful,” Jackie whispered quietly, her voice a low hum in Chris’s body, pressed up tightly against hers, wrapped in the warmth of her arms. “Absolutely gorgeous.”


	10. "Still got it." (J)

Jackie wasn’t sure if the spasming legs and sudden limpness were purely good things, so she’d brought Chris down into her lap to catch their breath. Once they were settled, Jackie started playing with their hair, savoring the new posture. Chris looked different when they were in her arms, small, almost fragile. Exactly the right size for both head caresses and idle exploration though.  
  
“You there?” she asked. When the pause became too long, “Chris, talk to me.” When that didn’t arouse a response Jackie rolled her eyes and slipped in a gentle kiss on the ear. Chris’s breath stuttered, eyes opening and finding hers. Jackie smiled.  
  
Still had it.  
  
Her smile faded when she saw the tears, first gathering in the corners and then streaming down their face as they turned into her arms to nestle closer against her. Jackie could feel their breath grow ragged, their body twitch as they clutched her tightly, as though afraid she would disappear on them.  
  
“Chris, what’s wrong?” she asked.  
  
Chris was, apparently, an ugly-crier. Between gulps of air they muttered words into her chest, maybe apologies, maybe thanks, maybe explanations, it all blurred together in a stream of soft whining sounds and hiccupping sobs. Jackie tried rubbing circles into their back, murmuring softly and shoving down the panic that was rapidly bubbling up. Had she done something wrong? Was Chris just falling apart in the aftermath? Jackie usually didn’t _do_ crying in the afterglow, and this...  
  
This was new.  
  
Her mind flashed back to their chat at the cafe, and Jackie nodded, swallowing as a fresh wave of sobs came.  
  
Yeah.  
  
That’d do it.  
  
Chris gradually grew quieter, whines turning to mumbles and breath calming. Jackie kept rubbing the little circles, humming a tuneless song. Normally Chris needed for Jackie to go a little _harder_ to actually fall asleep, but maybe the crying was going take it out of them. Either way, this wasn’t going on the scoreboard. Too close to home.  
  
Then Chris slowly twisted in her arms, meeting her eyes again, eyes puffy and red, face flushed. _“Am I pretty?”_ Chris whispered, and Jackie cracked a little at the desperate _need_ in their voice.  
  
She gave Chris a soft smile, stroked their sweat-matted hair. “Beautiful,” she whispered back, squeezing lightly. “Absolutely gorgeous.”


	11. "What do you want to do?" (J)

_“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”_  
  
Now that she’d learned about the wonders of doubling up on a Snuggie, Jackie wasn’t sure she’d be able to go back to throwing a blanket over her legs and calling it good. As Humphrey Bogart and Claude Rains were obscured by the ending card, Chris yawned quietly in her arms, wiggling deeper into the embrace.  
  
“So, the moral of the story is... fuck Nazis?” they said.  
  
Jackie groaned, bopping Chris on the head with her chin. “We just watched one of the single greatest pieces of cinema of all time and you go straight for the most reductive, dismissive, and generally unaware undergrad interpretation there is.”  
  
“I watch films for the pretty pictures. Sometimes there are explosions!”  
  
A huff of air escaped her, disappointment mingled with amusement. “No sex tonight, I can’t sleep with someone who doesn’t appreciate the intricacies of the tension between Rick’s roguish lifestyle and his idealistic tendencies twined with the commentary it presents on American heroism.”  
  
“Which one was Rick again?” At Jackie’s inarticulate exclamation of outrage, Chris added, “Kidding, kidding! Anyway, we don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. This is nice.”  
  
Jackie froze. “You’re serious.”  
  
Chris turned a little so they could see Jackie’s expression a bit better, one eyebrow quirked questioningly. “Yes?”  
  
“Where’d I fuck up?” When Chris didn’t respond, confused, Jackie squeezed tighter. “Like, fuck, if you don’t like movies we can—”  
  
“What? Wait, time out. The movie was fine. You didn’t fuck anything up. What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” Jackie said, loosening her arms without relaxing her muscles.  
  
Chris stared at her, then twisted around until they could look her in the eye. They felt the tension, mulled over their thoughts for a moment, and put on their serious face, only slightly undercut by their current status as a human-blanket burrito. “Jackie. I don’t want to overstep the boundaries you set here. If this is purely a booty call situation? I’m down. Certainly not gonna complain.” They worked their arms behind Jackie for emphasis, squeezing her tightly. “But if you’re ever not in the mood, or just want to cuddle? This was honestly really nice.”  
  
Jackie swallowed, shivering. “That’s not normally a thing with me.”  
  
Chris sighed, faintly amused and exasperated at the same time, and pressed on. “I mean, fair enough, but you _can_ hang out with other people on the team without sleeping with them, right?”  
  
A dark laugh escaped Jackie’s lips, one without a smile. “You would be surprised.”  
  
Chris paused. Leaned in close, nuzzling into Jackie’s chest, voice low. “ _Have_ you slept with anyone else on the team?”  
  
Jackie let out a huff of irritation, turning them over on the couch and sitting up halfway. “Not here, and you have _no idea_ how _frustrating_ it’s been,” she growled, working off her shirt and tossing it across the room. “It’s like a fucking nunnery here. Except there’s no _fucking_.”  
  
Chris used their flight, abruptly switching their positions again until Jackie was on her back beneath them, eliciting a surprised _oof_ and an appreciative smile. “There’s _some_ fucking,” they said, everarmor vanishing, leaving behind nothing but tattooed skin. “Ethan and Sharon asked me to join them once, but I turned them down.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Jackie said, trying to sit up. “Those prudes, I’ve been throwing myself—”  
  
“So, your ‘no fucking philistines’ policy,” Chris interrupted innocently, pushing Jackie back down with just a smidgen of superstrength while the other hand began to wander. “How do you feel about philistines fucking you?”  
  
“I think those are bold words come from someone five feet tall and a buck even,” Jackie snarked back, making token efforts to get out from under Chris, to regain the upper hand. “I'd like to see you try.”  
  
Chris concentrated for a moment, then grinned hungrily as their everarmor blurred into something new. “Challenge accepted.”


	12. "Clear?" (C)

Tinkering was entirely unlike anything Chris had ever experienced before in the world-that-was. No amount of ADHD-fueled hyperfocus on code, on writing, on soldering, on painting miniatures smaller than their thumb, none of it compared to the sense of flow one got into with a five-alarm Tinker fugue. Everything just _worked_. Pieces slotted together, ideas took form, nebulous concepts like quantum superposition or nth-dimensional folding ceased being abstract and instead became metal and plastic, ferrofluids and resin. Flow-state, only instead of falling out of it as soon as something else came to mind the extra ideas dug them in deeper. It was hard to describe to anyone who _wasn’t_ a Tinker because it always came out way weirder than it actually was, and the few Tinker-poet combinations had been villains. One line that Jackie had found and shared was ‘a universe eaten // a glimpse of eden’. Amusingly-accurate spoilers aside, it wasn’t a bad way of thinking about it.  
  
Cooperative Tinker fugues were like that, but ten times better.  
  
It was composing a song in two different languages simultaneously, somehow understandable in both. It was infinity in a conversation, the unlimited brought into reality. It was the intuitive understanding of brothers-in-arms made manifest, a ‘you-get-it’ that simply didn’t exist among other humans. It was a pair of geniuses coming into conflict on borrowed power in the best possible way, Antony and Cleopatra without the tragedy. It was an unending series of innovations that turned and twisted and built itself up endlessly, mutually beneficial and arbitrarily soothing as finally, _finally_ , another person connected with you. Afterwards it left one spent, exhausted, exhilarated, and maybe a little disappointed that the high was gone.  
  
It also made Chris randy as _fuck_.  
  
Colin had said no sex in the lab. Colin also had the libido of a tortoise, a fake Canadian girlfriend, and iron-clad discipline that would’ve made Batman proud, the very definition of ‘all work and no play’.  
  
Chris had none of those things.  
  
So when Jackie leaned back in her chair after a long, productive session of Tinkering, sweat glistening lightly from the glow of the microforge, her chest rising and falling hypnotically with the rhythm of heavy breaths as her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, Chris found themself making some very hasty rationalizations to justify flying over the table and getting as much of _that_ as possible.  
  
The first time in the lab had been rushed, the panic acting as an accelerant while every second of bare skin increased the risk of discovery. The second time they locked the door, which tipped off Colin, which then prompted furious bullshitting about risky ricochet designs to save the secret. That wasn’t an excuse they could use twice though, and so the door stayed unlocked. Fortunately Colin was on a different patrol schedule, a coincidence of bureaucracy that meant the only other Tinker on the base with regular access to the lab was typically absent when Chris and Jackie decided to have post-fugue nookie. Combine that with the healthy fear of Tinkers in their lab PRT agents cultivated as a survival skill and sex after work had become a regular, welcome addition to the day.  
  
Except when you play the odds for too long, eventually the odds came back to bite you in the ass.  
  
Smol Chris’s composure was admirable. In fact, it was so admirable that Chris Prime didn’t notice his silent presence at the now-open doors until he dropped his notebooks, at which point Jackie’s hands promptly clawed in panic, scraping Chris’s scalp and drawing a confused yelp from them from between her legs. “Oh my god! Why didn’t you knock!?” Jackie shouted as one hand blurred and hurled a wrench at the door, eyes filled with murder. “Always! Fucking! Knock!”  
  
Chris spun around, hands poised to attack, energy blasts rising only to be canceled when their eyes caught up with their brain and registered the wide, innocent eyes and steadily-rising flush in the boy’s cheeks. _Then_ Chris remembered they were still naked, and vanished into blurry black-green energy as heavy PRT trooper armor manifested around them.  
  
“I am so sorry!” smol Chris shouted, voice cracking as he dashed away. A single gunshot rang out and the door _wooshed_ shut. Jackie stalked over to the entrance, hammered in the lock-down code, and punched the metal once for good measure.  
  
“I’m gonna kill him,” she muttered darkly, turning back towards Chris and walking back to their now-heavily-armored partner. “No, death’s too good. First we’re going to get him to fall for someone, then we’re going to get them to second base, and then we’re going to get his mom to drop in on them when they go at it for the first time.” She paused, naked and flushed, looking down at her own wide-eyed Chris, and sighed. “He killed the mood, didn’t he?”  
  
“A bit,” Chris said quietly, trying to will their heartbeats to slow and failing, collapsing against a workbench. They _still_ felt exposed, even swathed in clothing to their eyeballs, and they mentally prepared an apology to Jackie for pre-emptively rescinding booty privileges for the next week. At _least._ How much of them did smol Chris see?  
  
After pulling her clothes back on, Jackie settled down next to them and gently leaned on their shoulder. “You think he’s going to tell Colin?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Chris said quietly, still staring into the middle distance. “And I think he knows you’ll shoot him if he does.”  
  
“I wouldn’t permanently maim or injure him,” Jackie said, then winced. “That came out way more threatening than I meant it to.”  
  
Chris’s eyes glanced briefly towards Jackie, then at the microforge opposite her. Their shell-shocked expression grew slightly more thoughtful. “I think we need to be a bit more careful.”  
  
“A pocket dimension, maybe?” Jackie said, following their gaze, drumming her fingers on Chris’s thigh. “Dodge doesn’t normally work with anyone outside the Toybox, but if you could get his tech for even a minute it might be enough to spark something. If that doesn’t work we could alway try warping light and sound around, create a little bubble of missing information, something like Vista’s schtick. Might be difficult to keep air and light flowing through though.”  
  
Chris sighed. “Or we could stop having sex in public?”  
  
Jackie grimaced. “That is also an option, albeit not one that I would prefer.” She squeezed Chris’s knee, dropping her head to the side. “If this scared you that much though, we can stop.”  
  
Chris exhaled sharply through their nose, a ghost of a smile creeping on their face. Jackie always knew just the right thing to say. “First you present an engineering challenge, then you double-dog-dare me to quit?”  
  
“What can I say?” Jackie said, pressing a kiss to Chris’s temple. “I know how to push your buttons.”


	13. "Coming home." (J)

Endbringer fights always came in two parts.  
  
First there was the battle against a near-indestructible monster. There, two things mattered: destructive power and survivability. If you could take a hit, you lived on the front lines and soaked damage. If you could hurt, you stayed at the optimal range and prayed that the monster never cared enough to rip your head off. If you didn’t have either, you went on Search and Rescue. That part was always a little same-y, regardless of when or where it was. When the Endbringer monuments went up, the names on them were the names of people who died in the brawl.  
  
Then there was round two. That was the fucked-up bit, where four people had to pull the radiation out of twenty square miles before the local ecosystem died off, where Mover and Thinkers worked together to try and dig out the last survivors in a submerged city without getting crushed by weakened buildings, where anyone who was within range of the scream had to be quarantined. Anyone could help in the aftermath, so long as they could keep their head on straight. It took a different kind of power though, one that didn’t map to the first half, the kind that let you make snap decisions when a kid jumped out of a closet and opened up the jugular of a grizzled cape you’d known for years. You had to take in the situation, all the variables, come to a conclusion, and _act_ —  
  
Jackie shook her head, banishing the memory. It was over, done, for better or for worse. Someone else would call it a win, call it a loss, whatever. Above her pay grade.  
  
“Are you alright?” After a moment, Jackie looked up. Hannah had her bandanna off, a weapon holstered at her side, brows furrowed with concern.  
  
“Peachy,” Jackie snapped back.  
  
Rides back from Simurgh fights were always tense. This one was better than most. Precogs had cleared them all for influence, no one on her team was dead or seriously wounded, and the aftermath hadn’t been one of the ‘creative’ ones. The silences were harsh, but harsh in a general way. The malice in the air wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, towards anything in particular, and the result was a feeling of anger and discontent that sucked but never threatened to descend into murder.  
  
No, they’d taken care of that in Canberra.  
  
“Brockton Bay.” Jackie had her harness off before the Dragoncraft came to a halt, stood before the loading doors was even close to open, and was gone before Armsmaster could even think about calling a general meeting. Not that he would. The days after a Ziz fight were mandatory paid vacation, with Tinkering limits abolished. Rebuilding her store of munitions could wait, though.  
  
Chris was waiting on the landing pad, eyes red, arms tight around themself. A short walk later and Jackie had them in a hug, tight and warm and _there_. This time when she inhaled it smelled like ozone and sweat and tobacco and a hint of amber oil, this time her fingers tangled in loose blue-green hair instead of curling around cold metal, and when she sagged Chris stood strong, keeping her steady.  
  
For a long moment they waited there in silence.  
  
“Welcome home,” Chris whispered.


	14. "Where are you?" (J)

Awareness came to Jackie slowly.  
  
First it was touch. Sheets, soft and smooth. Then taste and smell, almost the same, nasty morning breath and sweat. The fruits of last night’s labors. Hearing came in next, a distant rumble of water on steel, of rain on glass. It was storming then, or at the very least one of the mild downpours that came with the climate.  
  
Sight was the final sense to come on line, and Jackie groaned at the empty room as the pressure behind her eyelids mounted.  
  
“Fuckin’...”  
  
After spending a few minutes enjoying the warmth of her sheets, Jackie threw them off and stood up, shivering in the chill room. A hot shower, a tooth brushing, and set of PRT sweats later and she felt almost ready to face the day. After she went into the tiny kitchen and dug around in the fridge for a bottle of cold brew coffee, the preparations were done.  
  
At which point she glanced at a clock and saw that it was seven to five.  
  
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Jackie groaned, walking over to her window and peeking through the blinds. Sure enough it was still dark outside, dark enough that the street lamps were on, illuminating the Brockton Bay skyline in a blur of fluorescent light distorted by the rain. Not dark enough to justify going back to bed.  
  
“What I get for turning in early,” Jackie muttered, taking another sip of coffee and suppressing a yawn. Once the first caffeine shudder shook away the last of the sleepy weakness, she pulled out her phone and checked her schedule. Nothing until eight, and since the next batch of confoam bullets was at the point where the chemicals were stuck brewing there wasn’t much point in going to the lab without a partner. Armsmaster would be on patrol and Chris would be off doing Chris-things until a lot later. In other words, Jackie had three free hours.  
  
For ten seconds she enjoyed the sensation of unlimited possibility.  
  
Then Jackie grabbed a pair of headphones and drawing supplies, walked down to the observation deck, and sat cross legged in front of the massive window to try and capture the essence of Brockton Bay during a storm in graphite.  
  
Her first few attempts were always skewed. Stiff wrists, a bad habit she never managed to throw completely, all chop and no flow. That could work, sometimes, but not in a place as liquid as Brockton. Here gang borders ebbed and flowed, capes pooled together, and entire buildings would evaporate in a clash between parahumans so dangerous that they could be household names in New York. By all rights the city should’ve collapsed by now, but somehow the act of rebuilding kept the place afloat. That, or a curse.  
  
Jackie smirked, tearing away a sheet of paper with her first draft and starting anew. The people helped with that. She remembered getting into a fight with Crusader and shooting through three walls to nail him before skedaddling. The next day the store owners were offering to let tourists get pics for the low, low price of twenty bucks a pop. The fact that Desperado had been there to pose for selfies had more than doubled the fee, and in return she’d received a standing tab at a new-ish Italian place. Hotswap wasn’t quite ready to do sit-down meals in costume, but it was something to keep in mind.  
  
The city had a Nazi problem, a sex-slaving problem, a bloodsports problem, a drug problem, chronic unemployment, and more capes than was healthy for any civic center, but it was also populated by some the most hard-ass civilians Jackie had ever seen. Rain, shine, or hail of racist lasers, the civvies just kept going. It was impressive in a way, and as she dwelt on the people who made up the little hellhole she was currently calling home the picture began to take shape. The city, not as it looked, but a lie that told the truth.  
  
Jackie’d dropped chem and bio like they were going out of style freshman year, but that quote stuck with her. Show things not as they appear, but as what they are. Trite, but it approached the right idea. Focus on the point, not the pedantry. Did Brockton Bay really have steel ramparts? No, but the northern part of the city was an Empire stronghold. Did red lanterns really float over the city? No, but Lung operated more brothels than could possibly be profitable. Did animals hang from the structures, varied and nightmarish? No, but the city had more than one cape per five thousand people, and if that didn’t make it a zoo—  
  
Thunder shook the window, but what sent Jackie’s pencil skidding was the briefly-illuminated flash of yellow and blue streaking by the window, almost gone, completely unmistakable, and _flying in a lightning storm_.  
  
“Shit shit shit.” Her phone took too long to get out of her pocket, the windows were too thick to bust through, and the chances of Chris having their phone on them was close to zero. Jackie strode over to glass, casting out her power, trying to find her target even as she dialed, hoping against hope.  
  
It rang once.  
  
Twice.  
  
“Eyyy, Jackie—”  
  
“Why the _fuck_ are you outside!?” Found them. Still flying, still in motion, lazy loop-de-loops and sweeping figure-eights below the cloud layer, too high, too close. “Get down, away from the clouds! Right now you’re the only thing lightning can strike for half a mile in every direction and each second you spend out there is a second that God can smite your ass out of the sky for being such a goddamn numbskull that basic shit like ‘don’t stand in an open field during a thunderstorm’ apparently _doesn’t scale!_ ”  
  
Jackie heard laughter, light and carefree. “I'm counting on it!” Then the line filled with static as another bolt flashed acting bright against the sky, thankfully followed by excited whooping over the speaker.  
  
“Counting on it!?” Jackie wasn’t whining. It was just frustration escaping in a high-pitched hiss as she sprinted to the weapons locker, punched in the emergency override, and started grabbing munitions. Nothing she had on hand was even close to point-to-point teleportation, but maybe she could shoot the clouds with some sort of EMP. She’d need to set a proximity or distance trigger, recalibrate the output to flatten electric reactions in general rather than just lithium, and she almost certainly didn’t have the capacity to _stop a storm_ , but maybe she could carve a path for Chris to get back.  
  
“Yeah!” Chris shouted back, barely audible over the roaring storm and apparently completely oblivious to her panic. “I had a really cool idea for—”  
  
And then the line went dead.  
  
Thunder rumbled ominously.  
  
Jackie kicked open the fire stairs and started blurring, gritting her teeth against the pain as she ascended. If Chris was alive they could put her back together again. Twenty-seven agonizing seconds later and she was on the helipad, loading her longest-range revolver with munitions that were so carelessly modified she’d laugh at the risk of firing them any other time, focusing on the othersense that pulled her towards a particular point in the sky, straining her eyes to find the speck of royal and gold in the black—  
  
She saw a human figure, surrounded by a crackling ring of lightning, slowly descending towards the helipad. The ring swiveled around them, casting their features in roving shadows. As they drew closer the ecstatic, wide grin on their face grew clearer, glowing both figuratively and literally. No missing limbs, no scorched skin, and apparently unconcerned.  
  
That made one of them.  
  
“Sorry about that! Didn't harden my phone as well as I thought.” Chris’s casual tone clashed with ring of brilliant lightning slowly orbiting their waist, leaking just enough power to set Jackie’s hairs on end from twenty feet away. “What are you doing up here? It’s storming pretty hard!” Jackie just stared through the pouring rain as Chris touched down, face carefully neutral as she put her thoughts in order.  
  
One. Chris was alright. Apparently tanking and/or capturing lightning bolts was something they could do.  
  
Two. When the adrenaline wore off her worn muscles were going to hurt like a _bitch_.  
  
Three. Jackie was a lot more invested in Chris than she thought.  
  
“Hey, you look a little wobbly, are you alright?” They looked at her intently, then gave Jackie a sly, rain-slick, shit-eating grin. “Wait, you weren't worried about me, were you?”  
  
Jackie broke eye contact first, pulling out an EMP bullet and a multitool, small sparks flying as she made minute adjustments to the payload, wordless.  
  
“That's genuinely sweet and I'd give you a hug” —the ring of living lightning started wobbling dangerously, and their voice picked up a bit in urgency and muted alarm— “but I've gotta figure out how to discharge this first—”  
  
The bullet snapped shut, _clicked_ into a chamber, and Jackie fired. A line of brilliant blue cut over Chris’s shoulder, pulling away the lighting in a blur of light, and for a moment there was silence.  
  
Chris blinked. “Okay, that works, but—”  
  
Then thunder rang out as the payload exploded over the ocean, prompting half a dozen other forks to fall from the clouds, redoubling the storm’s intensity. The disturbance in the cloud layer began spiraling, and as the echoes died away Jackie slowly trod across the helipad, carefully holstering the revolver.  
  
“Please. Do not fly. In thunderstorms,” she said, locking eyes with Chris, tone carefully neutral.  
  
Chris floated to meet her halfway, warmth and amusement in their eyes. “I mean, I guess.”  
  
Jackie wrapped her arms around Chris and pulled tight, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m serious. No stupid stuff.”  
  
Chris returned her embrace, gentle in the way only Brutes were with squishy normals, and quietly replied, “I can’t promise I won’t do anything else stupid. But… for you, I’ll try.”


	15. "You want to talk?" (C)

Chris used their flight to keep their balance, riding out the gentle rocking of the boat beneath their feet. The sun felt warm across their back and shoulders, casting a shadow onto the ocean that served as a window into the depths below. They changed their grip on the weapon, and as they adjusted they could feel the shifting, ephemeral presence of strings and tiny scraps of cloth that made up the bikini Jackie had convinced them to wear. It was the most skin they’d revealed outside of showering—or the bedroom, or places they had _used_ as a bedroom—since they appeared on Bet, and it was _terrifying_. The way Jackie looked at them made the heat in them grow though, fending off the chill fear.  
  
Movement below caught their attention.  
  
Chris squeezed the trigger.  
  
There was a _whump_ and _splash_ as the spear plunged into the water, the recoil knocking them a good foot in the air before their flight stopped them again.  
  
“Did you catch anything?” Jackie drawled from her seat by the steering wheel.  
  
A scowl on Chris’s face as the harpoon gun retracted a wicked-looking steel lance three feet long, one distinctly empty of fish. “No.”  
  
“You could borrow my power if you want. Might help with your terrible aim.” Jackie’s smile, the expression shaded by a silly looking straw sun hat, took some of the sting away from the comment. Blatantly checking her out in her yellow bikini—and the ensuing pose as Jackie became aware of the attention, complete with a knowing smirk—burned away the rest.  
  
“Shut up,” Chris answered not at all petulantly, descending back to the deck, bare feet warmed by the white-painted surface. The boat trip had been Jackie’s idea. Chris knew better than to try to suggest anything romantic to someone who thought ‘emotional intimacy’ was a brand of lingerie, so it had been a pleasant surprise to see Jackie take that initiative, rent the boat, help them pick out a swimsuit. Chris also knew better than to let themself hope this meant Jackie wanted a cautious way of asking for _more_ or _different_. Yes, they definitely didn't let themself entertain the idea, didn't imagine what it would be like to be actually, truly, honestly _with_ her, to leave Jackie a gift on her nightstand imagining the look on her face when she woke up to see it, or watch her eyes light up when Jackie saw them come home, or—  
  
Chris interrupted that train of thought by trying to come up with reasons why they couldn’t, shouldn’t take Jackie’s power, then realized they didn’t actually _care_ about any of those reasons.  
  
“You know what? Sure,” Chris conceded, and a new tattoo joined the others. Nestled among the divine figures on their right arm and the mythical beasts on the left were circles where representations of the powers they collected manifested. Where Khepri was poised to push the sun across the sky, just on the inside of their wrist, the sun had been replaced with a pair of crossed revolvers inside a purple ring, one notch cut into it.  
  
Jackie nodded at the addition when she spotted it, cutting the air with a low whistle as she took in the ink. “That’s pretty metal. C’mon, try it out.”  
  
Chris smiled as they explored their new sense. Jackie was the easiest target to pick out, but a bit of a mental rejiggering let them snap the connection loose, a floating sense of focus just beyond their perception. They willed it down into the water, searching for a bite...  
  
That fish never knew what hit it.  
  
Of course there was very little left of the fish afterwards. A foot of sea bass was a poor match against space-whale magic and the power of _guns_. It was the journey that mattered though, and after Jackie had her laugh Chris threw the bits of pulped sushi back in the ocean and switched to something a little smaller. The cooler of ice in the back of the boat wasn’t going to fill itself.  
  
Once they’d caught enough future-dinners, Chris settled down on a towel beside Jackie, taking a deep breath and dismissing their top before lying face down to soak up some of that probably-no-longer-essential vitamin D. They idly wondered if Aegis's power meant they would adapt instead of getting a tan. Actually, now that they thought to check, their skin had been slowly darkening over the course of the date, so maybe—  
  
Oh god.  
  
It _was_ a date.  
  
Maybe the dinners and movies and shopping trips could be dismissed as just different flavors of a booty call, but you didn’t rent a boat for nookie. Well, you didn’t rent a boat _just_ for nookie. Jackie had taken them out on an actual ‘let's you and I do something sweet as just the two of us’ date. A date that Jackie had planned on her own initiative, without Chris saying anything or let slip their feelings on the matter, one she seemed to be enjoying—  
  
Those thoughts derailed further when Jackie shifted beside them, skin sliding over skin as she climbed over their back, thighs straddling hips. Her hands weren’t far behind, gently gliding over Chris’s skin, a inquisitive hum rumbling behind them.  
  
“This is new,” she said, tracing Chris’s shoulder blades. “Snow white to lovely bronze in less than an hour.” Chris shivered as they felt a kiss on the back of their neck, accompanied by just enough nip to notice. “I like it.”  
  
“Hmmnhgh,” Chris replied articulately.  
  
Roaming hands transitioned smoothly into a massage in the deliberately casual way that was one hundred percent Jackie, eliciting small sounds of contentment from Chris as everything—absolutely everything, from the sun to the slow beating of their hearts to the gentle rocking of the ocean to the beautiful, caring, giving woman on their back—was _perfect_. Jackie leaned down, shifting her hips, weight pressing into Chris's back, her hands sliding down their arms to clasp their hands, and Chris sighed. “Did you bring the quiet cube?” she whispered, words tickling Chris’s ears.  
  
Chris gulped and nodded, throat dry, hearts suddenly pounding. They gestured at a duffel bag with a small motion, heat entirely disconnected from the bright day coursing through them. Jackie leaned over and fished around in the bag, pulling out the familiar device and pressing the big red button labeled ‘SHUT UP’. Pavlovian conditioned responses made Chris's hearts beat even faster as the soft _whump_ of locally compressed air silenced everything outside their little bubble of privacy, so loud that they were pretty sure Jackie could hear that excited _th-thump-th-thump-th-thump-th-thump_ beneath her.  
  
It was only when all other distractions were muted that Chris realized they could _feel_ Jackie locking onto them, an echo of their own lock-on that reflexively latched onto her in return. Chris focused on the surprisingly intimate sensation, attention given metaphysical weight.  
  
Jackie's breathing, so close, hitched slightly. “Fuck. That’s my focus, isn’t it?”  
  
Chris answered with a wordless nod, afraid of popping the moment like a soap bubble. Afraid that if they turned around or spoke they would somehow ruin it. They could feel Jackie's breath hasten, hear her heart beat hummingbird quick with their enhanced senses. Chris licked their lips, every nerve live with anticipation.  
  
“...What happens if you max out my power and keep going?”  
  
Chris's mind stuttered. Power talk? Now? Here? The incongruence of it short-circuited their mouth into answering without thinking. “I dunno. More versatility, more range? Lock on to unfamiliar people? It varies.”  
  
Jackie went quiet. After a breathless moment she started kneading her fingers into Chris's back, more idle motion than anything sensual. The fire in Chris's stomach faded, still lurking in wait, but no longer anywhere near as urgent as it had been seconds before.  
  
Eventually the fingers stopped. “If I wanted to kill someone, would you help me?”  
  
Chris closed their eyes. They took a deep breath, lifting slightly off the deck, and exhaled heavily.  
  
They should have known better than to hope for the impossible.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“It'll be premeditated, cold-blooded murder. If you want to turn me in—”  
  
“Fuck that,” Chris said, quietly but firmly. “I'm in.”  
  
For a long moment, neither said anything.  
  
Then Jackie slowly leaned down, hands sliding around Chris's chest until she was embracing them tightly from behind, the two lying together on the deck of the boat, not as warm as it had been minutes before. It was quiet, their mutual lock-ons a ghostly presence hanging over their twined forms.  
  
Jackie held them as Chris's heart sank and they thought about what they’d agreed to. Kiss/Kill dynamics were a bitch. When Jackie said she loved Calvin, she meant the sort of love where she’d slit her own throat if he asked and not think twice. When she said she hated Richard, it was the sort of hate that meant she would look up the Nine for inspiration.  
  
Chris? Chris was just a momentary distraction, a pleasant diversion, a fun, no-strings-attached _fuckbuddy_ with delusions of domesticity. Chris mentally revised and cut down their foolish hopes and stupid, _stupid_ idle daydreams, _why did they ever think she could_ —  
  
“I love you.”  
  
It took a few seconds to process the fact that no, _they_ hadn't just blurted that out— _Jackie_ had. Her head rested on Chris's shoulder, breathing in sync with their own slow rise and fall, calm and collected and acting like she hadn’t just told them what she thought Chris wanted to hear. Like she hadn't just _lied_ to _both_ of them.  
  
“Don't... don't say it if you don't mean it,” Chris rasped, a cold feeling coming over them despite the sun and warm body pressed against them. They had already agreed to help her. She was just being cruel now.  
  
Jackie kissed the back of Chris’s neck, hands wandering, doing her damnedest to pretend this was still a date. Chris responded, because Jackie was _damn good at what she did,_ but it felt like neither of them were present in the moment anymore. They went through the motions, but when it was over Jackie rolled over and stared up into the sky, a palpable distance between them.  
  
Chris didn’t try to get closer.


	16. "Jackie?" (C)

Chris could feel Jackie’s tension beside them as they lay on their stomach, one eye focused through the Tinkertech scope. She didn’t move, barely even breathed, coiled like a steel spring as Chris lined up the shot.  
  
This was wrong on a number of levels. Cold-blooded murder was bad; getting involved in Jackie's literal clusterfuck was worse; doing it regardless, knowing it meant they’d lose everything they had with Jackie, that was the worst.  
  
Chris took a breath, putting Jackie out of their mind and making some last-minute adjustments. The wind on the roof of the skyscraper was strong enough to affect their aim, but this position had the fewest obstacles between them and the target while still being outside the range of his pre/postcog, even if their sensors assured Chris that Richard’s power was on cooldown. It wasn’t like wind or gravity would actually affect the _bullet_ , not the way Chris designed it. The curvature of the Earth and the Coriolis effect, on the other hand...  
  
Chris took a deep breath. Held for a moment. Squeezed the trigger.  
  
A small chime sounded. No smoke, no recoil, no zap, no fancy special effects.  
  
Chris rose to one knee and started packing up the rifle, unscrewing the barrel into smaller pieces. “Let's go.”  
  
“That’s it?” Jackie asked, standing up and beginning to pace. “Did something go wrong? Richard’s a smart fucker, he could’ve easily—”  
  
“Oh, no, it’s done.”  
  
Jackie paused. “You’re serious.”  
  
Chris smiled a little sadly. “That’s it.”  
  
She just stared at them for a moment, then a small, humorless laugh escaped their lips. “Fuckin’—wow.” She ran a hand through her hair, a shorter pixie cut she’d been growing out for a few months now. “Just like that. Poof. Zip. Zow.” She stopped, expression hardening. “You’re sure?”  
  
“Richard is dead.”  
  
“Where’s the body?” Jackie demanded, short, sharp.  
  
Chris shook their head, tapping a finger on the body of the Tinkertech rifle. “No body. Cleaner that way. Fewer questions.”  
  
She shook her head. “Fine. We still have to get Calvin though.”  
  
The weight in Chris's stomach sank deeper, but they still smiled for her. “Right.”  
  
Jackie walked towards the door, one hand rubbing her chin while the other played with a lock of hair, muttering to herself. “First contact’s going to be a pain. I’ll need to change, make it look less like I had a hand in it, make him think this is just a regular check-up. Don’t want to be too casual though, he’s a sucker for button-ups.” Her fingers stilled as she came to the roof access. Slowly, she turned around. “Do you want to meet Cal?”  
  
Chris really didn’t. “If you want me to.”  
  
The car ride to the warehouse was a silent, tense affair. Jackie had changed into a red blouse and black jeans, put on some makeup, and shed all of her weapons save for a small hold-out pistol. She drove a mile under the speed limit, stopped completely at stop signs, and otherwise gave the local police no reason whatsoever to bother the grey sedan slowly crossing the city. At red lights, when they had time, Jackie would chew her lip, thinking. She opened her mouth a few times, hesitant, pausing, always eventually remaining silent. Chris did their best not to notice, a strange sense of vertigo growing as the two of them got closer to the warehouse of scum and villainy, like they were hanging over the edge of a cliff, clinging by their fingernails.  
  
This was it. Jackie didn’t need them anymore. Chris had prepared themself for the last two weeks, steeling for the inevitable. They’d said their goodbyes, even if Jackie refused to, not until Richard was out of the picture and Calvin was with her again. The fact that she’d felt the need to add the qualifier said something though, and the past few days had felt frantic, an attempt to squeeze the very last drops of emotion out of the relationship. It only made it harder for Chris to cut ties, even if the manic tenderness in Jackie's kisses was bittersweet.  
  
Still, they told themself they had no regrets. Not really. Jackie deserved to be happy, and if the two of them could be happy together for a while, well. It wasn’t time wasted. Jackie only had room in her heart for one person though, no matter what she said in moments of passion, and that was fine. Chris could handle it. They’d known what they were getting into since the first time Jackie had brought up her past, all those months ago.  
  
It was all over but the crying.  
  
Eventually they reached the villain’s lair. Chris closed their eyes and focused, reaching out with their Desperado+ senses as well as their power radar, searching for anyone in the area, cape or not, while Jackie slipped out of the car and walked over to the building. The plan was for Jackie to walk in, take Calvin out on a regular date if he hadn’t figured out the murder yet and console him if he had. Plausible deniability was the name of the game, and while waiting a few days might’ve increased their chances, Jackie wanted to make sure that Calvin didn’t do anything stupid—  
  
Chris frowned. They weren’t picking up anything.  
  
The warehouse was empty.  
  
Chris inhaled, then let it out, mind racing. Their expanded senses were potent but they were also only days old, and Jackie made it clear they shouldn’t underestimate Richard. The two of them had tried to account for every variable, from targeting to timing to defenses, but there was no telling what curveball space-whale magic could throw into the mix, especially when multiple Tinkers and Thinkers were involved.  
  
Of course it could also just be bad luck. Maybe Calvin was out running errands and he’d come back at the worst possible moment to his clustermate and her overpowered lover waiting outside their home, sending everything south faster than Jackie on a tequila bender. Maybe Richard had put contingencies in place in case of his death and the whole place was rigged to blow while Calvin caught the first plane to South Africa. One error, one bad break, and suddenly Jackie’s murder-my-romantic-competition plan went from merely ‘doomed to failure’ to ‘utterly catastrophic’.  
  
Jackie climbed to the second floor, moved around, then stopped. She wandered around a little, the information of motion useless without context, and Chris grit their teeth as the minutes ticked by. Jackie had asked them only to interfere if she started shooting, and even then only if things got really bad. ‘If the building starts falling down’ were the exact words, but they’d be fucked if the letter of the law had ever stopped them before.  
  
Eventually Jackie stopped moving.  
  
Time passed, agonizingly slow.  
  
When Chris finally lost patience, they found Jackie in a combination bedroom and office, a pair of dressers and a king-sized bed at one end of the room, the sheets disturbed where a body used to lie, a desk and computer tower in the other. Richard's room, where Calvin presumably stayed as well. Jackie stood by the desk, back to Chris and the door.  
  
“Jackie?” Chris called out quietly.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Slowly, Chris crossed the room. Jackie was only ever silent in one of two situations: when things went very, very _right_ , or very, very _wrong_. They came up behind Jackie, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “What did you find?”  
  
Wordlessly, woodenly, Jackie held out a green leather-bound journal. After a second Chris took it, scanning the name at the top, the date, reading and then re-reading the words neatly inscribed below.  
  
Oh.  
  
Well, _shit_.  
  
Chris closed the book, placed it gently back on the desk, and tenderly wrapped Jackie in a hug from behind.  
  
Jackie remained motionless.  
  
“I'm so sorry,” Chris whispered.


	17. Number Not Found (J)

Once she’d run out of tears and they’d both run out of vacation days, Jackie and Chris went back to Brockton Bay. They got debriefed, ran through light M/S protocols, and gone back to the routine. Patrols were still ninety nine percent boredom to one percent action, public events still required everyone to put on a mask and pretend like they weren’t crazy, and things were more or less normal.  
  
Well, normal for a world where Calvin was dead.  
  
Pointless. An accident, a week before they arrived in Chicago, just some dumbass who’d been staring at his phone, ran a red, and spread Cal over fifty feet of asphalt. Richard had already disappeared the guy, along with most of the people he’d known and loved. On the one hand, fuck him for taking that away from her. On the other hand, he was also dead, so any anger left was purely academic. An intellectual dislike, completely lacking in potential real world application, what with its target disappeared into the void.  
  
The loose ends were all tied up. All except for her.  
  
Jackie did her job. She did all of it, did it well enough to avoid notice, and responded to inquiries with restrained and polite language. Yes, she was good. No, nothing had happened over her vacation. No, she didn’t need to see this month’s shrink. After a while people stopped asking, even Chris. They didn’t leave though, and Jackie appreciated that.  
  
In between shifts, she daydreamed. About what would life be like if Calvin… if Richard was out of the picture and Cal was all hers. She imagined a constant presence, ready with a knowing smile or warm embrace. He’d cook and make sure she ate, fighting through the worst Tinker fugues with pancakes and juice. Calvin would laugh and argue with her, amusement dancing in his eyes as they fought over designs, never viciously, and in the end they’d both come out ahead. On the weekends they’d stay in bed ‘till twelve, spend the winter holidays somewhere warm and sunny, and maybe even raise a few brats if she ever lost the itch in her trigger finger. He’d be hers, hers and _only_ hers, even if maybe she let him go a few times a month to date someone else on the side. Jackie had learned her lesson, she’d find a way to come to terms with every part of Chris, and all it would take would be—  
  
Bacon sizzled in the kitchen. Jackie hadn’t even thought about breakfast. Her spare time had gone haggard, a high off a bad joint, twisted into stretches of life that left her limp and dozing. Unlike sleep though every time she woke up she was a little more tired than before, a little more worn, a little less there. Even Chris’s powers didn’t do much.  
  
Jackie glanced towards the kitchen listlessly, eyes unfocused, trying to return to her daydreams.  
  
Chris would—Calvin would go on stupid dates with her, mess around on the Boardwalk, play the carnival games he was too good-natured to know were rigged. She’d take him to her favorite restaurants, watch him sputter over spices, laugh as he desperately chugged down milk, finishing the meal because he wanted to make her happy. Maybe she’d even start painting again. She had that set of oils that Chris had—  
  
Jackie shook her head, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Calvin—  
  
Plates clinked softly against the small table, the smell of perfectly-cooked bacon pulling her unwillingly back to the real world. She found herself drifting towards the kitchen, mumbling something like ‘thank you’ to Chris who was seated across from her with their own plate, watching Jackie like a hawk to make sure she ate. They would spoon feed her if they had to.  
  
They did, once or twice.  
  
Jackie brought a piece of bacon to her mouth and took a bite. Smoky, crunchy, chewy, with the fat fried through and falling apart rather than being stringy and tough. She savored it. Slowly.  
  
It was a little like what her daydreams were.


	18. "Please Pick Up." (C)

Chris found Jackie waiting for them at her dinner table, staring at the front door with a hollow look in her eyes. That wasn’t that unusual, these days. What caught them by surprise was the sudden intensity that lit up in her when she saw it was them.  
  
“Chris!” she called out, jolting upright in her chair, one leg bouncing wildly beneath the table. “Hey. Welcome home. How’re you doing?”  
  
Despite the sinking feeling in their stomach, Chris found themself smiling at seeing Jackie so animated again. “Hey Jackie,” they said softly, warmly, floating towards her, sitting across from her at the table. They saw the oil paints they’d surprised her with after their last Boardwalk excursion together resting on the table, and their smile widened. “Planning on painting again? That’s great—”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Chris froze. Jackie reached out for their unresisting hand, clutched it tightly, fingernails digging into their palm, eyes startlingly intense, waiting. After a moment Chris shook their head, tried to smile, to play it off. “I told you before, don’t say it if you don’t mean it—”  
  
“I _love_ you,” Jackie repeated, like saying it again would make it true. She put on a smile, fragile and desperate, a cause for cheer at any other time, any other way. “I’m so sorry I didn’t figure it out earlier, so sorry that didn’t put the pieces together faster, but things are better now, I’m—I can—”.  
  
“Oh, Jackie, _no_ ,” Chris breathed out, chest full of ice and broken glass.  
  
“No no no,” Jackie pleaded, scooting closer, pulling Chris’s hand towards her and wrapping her other hand around it. “I’ve thought really, _really_ hard about this. It all makes sense once I looked at what we’re doing and not what I say. I promise I’m not settling, that this isn’t me just latching on because Cal is—”  
  
Jackie choked for a second, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. Just don't leave me.”  
  
Chris reached out with powers, with parahuman senses, reached out for anything to take them away from this nightmare, this mockery of their dreams. They could smell lingering cigarette smoke, the acrid sweetness of Jackie’s sweat, see the ways her body trembled, hear her heart beat staccato and frantic beneath the words, still wrong, still a lie. They felt their everarmor stutter-shift, refreshing itself as though it had been damaged, felt their everweapon sink like a lead weight in their coat pocket. They felt their focus, trained on Jackie since before they left for patrol, refuse to shift anywhere else, held captive by guilt.  
  
"I know you love me,” Jackie said, “even if you’ve never said it.” She dropped her head to their shared hands. “I’m so, so sorry for not seeing that before.”  
  
“That’s besides the point,” Chris answered hollowly, the words emerging without conscious thought. And it was true. It had been a secret, an inside joke, a treasure carried with them wherever they went. They’d buried it deep, hidden but not forgotten, so that one day when the sun shone and the world was right again Chris could laugh and say ‘I love you too, and I’ve loved you for ages’. It wouldn’t go like that, because nothing ever could, but it’d be a happy thing. Even if Jackie never said anything, never gave them the opportunity, it would be only bittersweet. A gift, never opened, but still born of goodness.  
  
Not enslavement.  
  
"What do I have to do?” Jackie asked, voice scarily calm even as her hands began to shake. “What do I do to show you that I love you? Give me one shot—"  
  
"No, Jackie. Please, _stop_.” They were both crying now but Chris’s vision refused to blur. They saw every sob wracking Jackie’s shoulders, heard every wet hiccup, felt each shudder and desperate adjustment of their shared grip. From somewhere deep inside Chris words emerged, words that reached out and struck Jackie in the face.  
  
“Please don’t try to make me into the idea of Calvin.”  
  
For a second Jackie didn’t breathe.  
  
Chris inhaled, then let it out. Slowly. They closed their eyes, for all the good it did. When they could open them again, they gave Jackie, head still bowed in supplication, a smile. It was a sad smile. Not condemning, not angry, just resigned.  
  
"Its okay,” Chris lied. “I went into this with both eyes open. It’s not your fault.” This time they squeezed Jackie’s hand, the fingers slack in their grasp. “I'll be here for you. I'll take care of you. But please, _please_ don’t say words you don’t mean.”  
  
Chris could almost see the moment her manic, desperate hope died.  
  
They could just hear the hitch in her breathing, the stutter in her heartbeat.  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
“I don’t want to be alone,” Jackie whispered.  
  
So Chris stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the bad end. There's another chapter.


	19. "Can we talk?" (C)

Chris found Jackie waiting for them at her dinner table, staring at the front door with a hollow look in her eyes. That wasn’t that unusual, these days, although it had been getting better, bit by bit, smile by smile. What caught them by surprise was the sudden intensity that lit up in her when Jackie saw them.  
  
“Chris!” she called out, jolting upright in her chair, one leg bouncing wildly beneath the table. “Hey. Welcome home. How’re you doing?”  
  
Despite their lingering worries, Chris found themself smiling at seeing Jackie so animated again. “Hey Jackie,” they said softly, warmly, floating towards her, sitting beside her at the table. Chris saw the oil paints they’d surprised her with after their last Boardwalk excursion together resting on the table, and their smile widened. “Planning on painting again? That’s great—”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Chris froze. Jackie reached out for their unresisting hand, taking it gently, waiting. Chris studied her face, saw the unsteady smile, equal parts frightened and excited. Tried to get their brain into gear. Saw her expression start to falter when they didn’t respond. Felt her squeeze their hand, spurred them to say something, say anything—  
  
“I told you before,” Chris said, trying to smile, trying to play it off. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it—”  
  
“I do mean it. I _love_ you,” Jackie repeated, squeezing their hand tighter as if she could press the truth in her words into them.  
  
“Oh, Jackie, no,” Chris breathed out, torn between hope and despair. They couldn’t live, crammed into the space Calvin had left behind. They couldn’t be a substitute clustermate, a consolation prize, a participation trophy. Not another lie.  
  
“No no no,” Jackie insisted, her free hand settling around the first. “I’ve thought really, really hard about this. It all makes sense once I looked at what we’re doing and not what I say. I promise I’m not settling, that this isn’t me just latching on because Cal is—”  
  
She cut herself off, swallowed, shook her head. “I love you. I’ll always love—I’ll always have a hole in my heart for Cal. But you’re not him. This isn’t me jumping ship, this is me putting together a lot of pieces and recognizing the wonderful person who’s put up with my shit for months and stayed when they should’ve left and lit up the room whenever they walked in and helped me fuck myself up worse than I ever had before without judging and they’re still here and right in front of me and _I love them_ —”  
  
Jackie cut herself off again, breath coming fast and shallow. “Fuck fuck _fuck_ I said I wasn’t going to rant or rave because that could scare you away and undercut the whole thing I’m sorry I’m such a mess right now just please don’t leave me,” Jackie begged, falling apart, doubt and fear and hope and desperation spilling through the cracks as she squeezed Chris’s hand. “Please, _please_ don’t leave me.”  
  
Chris licked their lips, clinging to the feeling of her hands wrapped around theirs like a lifeline. “Okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, alright?” One thing they could promise and mean, one less question to answer and _wow so many questions_. They paused, air too thick to breathe, Jackie’s hopeful gaze too heavy to bear. “You don’t… you don’t have to do this.” When she had said it before, on the boat, it was just a comforting lie. A lie she had _thought_ would comfort them, instead of just twisting the knife. “I didn’t stay because I expected anything in return.”  
  
“I know you love me, even if you’ve never said it,” Jackie replied, sending a shiver down Chris’s spine, mouth suddenly dry, a hundred possible responses dying in their throat. Jackie dropped her head to their shared hands. “I’m so, so sorry for not seeing that before and if you want to tell me to fuck off for ignoring you until I needed someone, you can. I only figured it out when I started thinking in circles, started asking why the fuck such a wonderful person would shack up with someone who can barely get up in the morning, who would stick around when she needed help _fucking eating_ , who—”  
  
“Hey no, no, stop that.” Chris reached out with their free hand, gently lifting Jackie’s head and drawing their face close to hers. This, at least, they knew how to deal with. “Believe me, I understand. I get it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You need time to think things through and I never wanted to pressure you into anything. You’ve kinda been through a _hell of a lot_ and I don’t want to be something else you’ve gotta throw on that dumpster fire, alright?” They smiled, just at the absurdity of it all. “Not like I’m not a mess myself, you know?”  
  
Jackie threw her arms around Chris, almost sending them both tipping over, saved by Chris’s flight. “You are not a problem,” she whispered, shaking slightly, squeezing. “You are never a problem. Never. Ever. You are the trouble I want in my life, Chris.”  
  
“Damnit, Jackie,” Chris choked out, tears that had threatened to burst since she’d first said the words surrendering and spilling down their cheek, hugging her back. “Shut up and stop making me cry.”  
  
“I love you,” Jackie whispered. “I promise.”  
  
Chris swallowed, words dying in their throat.  
  
It had been a secret, an inside joke, a treasure carried with them wherever they went, buried deep, so that one day when the sun shone and the world was right again Chris could laugh and say ‘I love you too, and I’ve loved you for ages’. It wouldn’t go like that, because nothing ever could, but it’d be a happy thing, and even if Jackie never said anything, never gave them the opportunity, it would be only bittersweet. A gift, never opened, but still born of goodness.  
  
And now Jackie was there, saying the words. Not just because she was alone, but because—if Chris could believe her, if Chris could accept she had actually done this for the right reasons, if Chris could take that leap of faith…  
  
Their breath caught. Their lungs ached, then stopped aching as their body adapted.  
  
They just had to say it back. Easy. They’d wanted to, for so long.  
  
Chris had suppressed the urge every time they watched Jackie sleep in their arms, just in case she’d hear them. They’d suppressed it every time Jackie made a stupid fucking pun or posed when she caught Chris staring or given them that intense, knowing grin when they were balls-deep in a Tinkering project or—  
  
Jackie was watching them now, eyes brimming with tears, breathing shallow and quick, waiting but visibly afraid to say anything, to ruin it, to make them change their mind at the last minute _goddamnit just say it just say the fucking—_  
  
“I love you too, Jackie. I’ve loved you for ages.”  
  
Jackie made a sound of relief halfway between a laugh and a sob, sagging in Chris’s lap. “That’s what I just said, right? All this for just a few words. We’re fucking idiots, aren’t we?”  
  
“Yeah,” Chris said, dizzy from the sudden absence of the leaden weight in their chest. “We’re fucking idiots,” they agreed, smiling through the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the Good End.


End file.
